


Duty Calls

by onward_came_the_meteors



Series: October 2020 Prompts [22]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt Sam Wilson, M/M, One Shot, POV Third Person, Poisoning, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors
Summary: On a mission, Sam gets poisoned, and Bucky has to resort to creative measures to keep their cover.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: October 2020 Prompts [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947679
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	Duty Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Day 22, for the prompt "poisoned."

Steve hadn’t thought they could handle a mission on their own.

Had said that they were “just getting to know each other” (and wasn’t  _ that  _ a delicate way of putting it), that they “hadn’t had much opportunity to train together,” and that really, with something as sensitive as this, maybe it would “be better to leave it to me or Wanda?”

Both Bucky and Sam had insisted they would prove him wrong, and Steve had finally waved them off.

That had been almost four hours ago.

Now—now that Bucky was racing out of an alleyway in the heart of a bustling city, half-dragging Sam’s limp form over his shoulders as the sounds of gunfire echoed a distance away that wasn’t  _ quite _ as distant as he’d prefer—he was starting to think that maybe Steve had had a point.

_ And when I start thinking things like that, the situation must  _ really  _ be bad. _

Bucky turned a corner and continued to race down the sidewalk, which was entirely too packed with people to make that an easy task (seriously, what were so many people doing out here; it was a  _ Tuesday afternoon _ for fuck’s sake), especially considering that Sam was being _ very _ uncooperative and if Bucky hadn’t had super soldier strength, he probably wouldn’t have been able to lift him at all.

Tall buildings rose up on all sides, narrowing his field of vision to just the street; and all the cars and flashing signs and flocks of pedestrians milling about kept catching his attention, which was still on high alert from the mission (not that it wasn’t always; but that was soldier’s training and not paranoia, no matter what Sam had said the thirty-fourth time Bucky had climbed onto the roof just to make sure that the noise he heard was rain and not helicopter blades).

A lot of those pedestrians kept giving him odd looks, especially the one who Bucky accidentally bumped into as he tried to run through a gap between a store awning and a wide-umbrellaed kiosk, who shot him a glare as she adjusted her grip on her purse. He would’ve apologized, but he was going too fast.

Making their getaway on foot would not have been Bucky’s first choice, but he didn’t really have a whole lot of other options. Sam’s wings were currently tangled in a broken mess behind the undercover facility they’d just broken into—after Sam had been hit, he’d spiraled out of the sky and crashed into a heap. Bucky didn’t even know what Sam had been hit  _ with _ , but judging from the way his eyes were rolled back and his breathing was ragged and choked-sounding—not to mention the fact that he now  _ couldn’t move on his own _ —it was probably some kind of poison.

_ I should know about poisons, shouldn’t I? _ That was the sort of thing an assassin should probably know about, even if this particular assassin’s methods usually just involved a large firearm and/or a large metal arm. He hadn’t been trained to be subtle, he had just been trained to be efficient. Even so, though, he had the feeling he should still know  _ something. _

Except, of course, that the stress of the situation was making his already-fuzzy-on-a-good-day memory fuzzier, and anything the Winter Soldier might possibly have known was slipping out of his mental grasp like water.

_ Which is really, really, not helpful. _

Bucky hoisted Sam higher from where he was starting to slip and kept running, dodging a man pushing a stroller and a group of teenagers clumped around a bench. As he approached a crosswalk, the light blinked red and he debated stopping, but there weren’t  _ that _ many cars coming—

Apparently, residents of your average American city were not used to seeing a man with a metal arm supporting the weight of a barely-conscious guy in what looked like a broken jetpack vault through oncoming traffic on their lunch breaks, because that was about when Bucky really became aware of the voices.

“Oh my god!”

“Who are  _ they? _ ”

“Hey, is that guy alright?”

“Should we call somebody?”

_ Not unless you have Captain America’s number _ , Bucky thought as he successfully made it to the other side of the street and continued running. A phone would actually have been pretty useful right about now. Maybe he should’ve listened to… well, everybody, and gotten one of those.

(Sam, on the other hand, had told him  _ not _ to get a phone. He claimed it was because he didn’t need another reason to be in contact with him, but Bucky was pretty sure it was just so he could keep making grandpa jokes at him).

(Bucky  _ did _ know how to use a phone, for the record. He knew how to plant a bug on one, he knew how to rig one to a miniature explosive, and last week he’d used Steve’s to Google how to fix a broken microwave).

(The touch screen didn’t pick up metal fingers).

(He’d ended up just throwing the microwave out).

None of that was helping him now, though. He chanced a glance over his shoulder; no sign of pursuit, but they were still in close enough proximity that he didn’t want to risk it. Not with Sam like this.

He had to get him back to the base, and with no Falcon wings and no evac…

Bucky spun around in the middle of the street for a bit as Sam blinked hazily at his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, though, and a moment later his eyes slid shut again, which Bucky only dimly registered because cars were  _ honking  _ at him now and this was the  _ last _ thing he needed today—

A little voice in the back of his head whispered that traffic would sure clear away quick if he pulled out his gun. He ignored it, although the impulse was getting harder to ignore when Sam seemed to be getting heavier in his arms by the minute and he needed  _ some _ kind of medical attention if Bucky’s memory wasn’t cooperating, and all of that meant he had to get him somewhere  _ fast _ .

_ A brainwashed assassin would be able to clear the area by firing a warning shot, hijacking one of the cars that would empty in the ensuing chaos, and speed away back to the base. _

_ But I’m not a brainwashed assassin anymore. I’m a… well, Sam calls us heroes, but I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic. _

_ Sam. _ Bucky looked down at his teammate’s motionless form, the sweat on his face, the slight shaking that was becoming more and more apparent as more of Sam’s weight leaned onto Bucky, and he made a decision.

He moved out of the road and over to the end of the line at the bus stop.

Traffic resumed as normal without the crazy man in the center of the street, and he was able to fade back into the small crowd that was already gathered around the bus stop (that was a good sign; it meant that the bus was probably due to arrive soon). A few of the people cast him sideways looks, but most of them returned to their phones after a few seconds. One little kid leaned up to whisper something to their mother, and Bucky determinedly looked straight ahead.

Sam had been doing okay standing up so far, but as they waited, he began to slowly sag down to the sidewalk, pulling Bucky’s left side down with him.

“Oh, no.” Bucky tightened his grip. “Wilson, if you pass out on me, I swear you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Sam’s face cracked into the slightest grin before he winced again with pain. “Both of us are already sleeping on the couch.”

Which was true. Their base was no Avengers Compound, and the couch was infinitely preferable to sharing with Wanda and Vision.

“Okay, but you still gotta stand up,” Bucky said. He glanced around and added, “You’re drawing attention.”

“We’re in a city.” Sam struggled to keep his knees from collapsing under him, a new line of sweat breaking out across his brow. He was blinking a lot more than he probably should, with eyes that Bucky could now see were bloodshot. “One half-passed-out dude draws way less attention than a dude with a metal robot arm who looks like he stepped out of Soviet Russia.”

So he’d left his regular gear in the laundry  _ one time _ . 

“Not in broad daylight,” he hissed instead, and that was when he spotted it: a dark vehicle heading down the street toward them, just slowed down enough to set off all of his inner alarms. As it neared, he could just pick out the dents in the front of the hood—dents that had almost definitely been made from his or Sam’s bullets.

_ Shit. _

“Sam, come on, stand up,” Bucky whispered, the words coming out in a jumbled rush. His head whipped back and forth between Sam and the car—ordinarily, this would’ve been no problem, but with Sam in this condition…

Sam tried to stand up, he really did; that much was obvious. But his limbs weren’t cooperating, and he only slid down further with a groaned “Can’t…”

The car was getting closer. And when it did reach them, it would be ridiculously apparent how  _ not _ undercover they were, but propping Sam up would be just as suspicious and  _ shit that car is really getting closer and— _

Bucky looked at Sam. It took a few seconds for Sam to focus, but eventually he managed to make eye contact.

“Okay, soldier. What are you willing to do for your country?”

Sam blinked. “The fuck are you talking about—”

He was interrupted when Bucky yanked him fully upright and pressed their faces together in an abrupt kiss, his arms wrapped around Sam’s back as a support.

His hair fell over and slid to hide Sam’s face ( _ see, Steve, I  _ told _ you not cutting it would come in handy _ ) and Sam made a kind of “uhhh” noise against his mouth, but he was apparently conscious enough to grasp the situation and kissed back with as much intensity as he could muster.

At first Bucky was just panicked and full of adrenaline from, you know, the imminent danger, but as the seconds passed, he found himself almost… leaning into it.

_ Stop that. Stay focused. _

The car slowly trundled by, and Bucky felt Sam’s intake of breath against his lips as both of them held as still as they could. 

One beat… then two…

… and then the car had driven by, and Bucky and Sam ripped away from each other, stumbling a few steps apart before Sam staggered and Bucky had to catch him again.

_ Is Sam actually out of breath or… it’s the poison. It’s definitely the poison. _

Bucky stared at Sam, and Sam stared at Bucky, and everyone at the bus stop was pretending not to be staring at both of them. Sam’s eyes were as wide as Bucky had ever seen them, but that just made the hazy fog that had settled over them more obvious.

Bucky opened his mouth, and realized he had absolutely no words to come out of it.

Fortunately, that was when the bus arrived.

They both climbed on, Bucky miraculously finding a couple dollars in the bottom of his pocket and guiding Sam as carefully as he could to a seat in the middle right. It was directly next to the emergency exit—because Bucky didn’t trust that there had only been the one car and wanted to keep their escape routes open—and Sam immediately crumpled into it, wrapping his arms around his middle and making another groaning sound. He was still shaking, just the slightest bit, but he still managed to scoot over and leave a significant amount of space between himself and Bucky.

Bucky scanned the bus quickly before sitting down, right on the edge of the seat. The bus jolted to life, and Sam curled closer into himself and let out a shuddering breath. Whatever that poison had been was clearly still working its way through his system—the sooner they got back to the base, the better.

Neither of them said a word for the first few minutes, both of them staring at the gray back of the seat in front of them as the bus bumped and rattled down the road.

Finally, Sam spoke, albeit in a low voice. “They teach you that in Russia?”

Natasha’s smirking face popped into Bucky’s head, and he quickly shoved it to the side. “In a way.”

Bucky had enjoyed hearing the story of that particular mission (if only because of the embarrassment that Steve had fervently denied), but he wasn’t sure Natasha’s theory about public displays of affection was entirely accurate. He wouldn’t really use the word  _ uncomfortable _ , he didn’t think…

He caught himself just as the thought  _ maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to repeat that in different circumstances _ crossed his mind, and sat firmly back against the seat, switching his train of thought to how long it would take them to reach the base and whether their enemies would be able to catch up and what Steve was going to say when he showed up with a half-conscious and poisoned Sam at the doorstep.

But he still couldn’t help but notice when Sam, slowly but surely, began to fall to the side until he was leaning completely onto Bucky’s side. Bucky wasn’t looking at him, he wasn’t, but his super soldier senses could still detect the exact moment Sam’s eyes closed and he let out a small sigh.

And because Bucky’s arm was made of metal, it didn’t fall asleep for the entire ride back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited for their show
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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